


No Man's Woman

by voodoochild



Category: Burn Notice
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Comment Fic, F/M, Genderswap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-08
Updated: 2011-01-08
Packaged: 2017-10-14 13:31:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/149695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voodoochild/pseuds/voodoochild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Samantha Axe is a legend. Michael Westen is a chameleon. It ain't love, but it works.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Man's Woman

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Missy, for the commentfic prompt _"girl!Sam/Michael, she's a good time fella"_. Title from the Sinead O'Connor song, which I will forever associate with kickass female spies.

Samantha Axe is a legend in international espionage.

They say she once conned a set of nuclear launch codes out of a Uzbek defense minister just by asking nicely. They say she once snuck into Pyongyang and left with sixteen defectors, but not her bra. They say she out-drank a bunch of IRA gunrunners in Tripoli and foiled their arms shipment. They say she took on Michael Westen hand-to-hand in Tehran and destroyed an entire hotel.

All the rumors are true.

But for every time Sam Axe has parachuted into Sao Paulo in a catsuit and left with blackmail photos of the secretary of defense consorting with ex-KGB agents, there are hundreds more she's simply needed to blend in. Tail a suspect. Stake out a meeting. Plant bugs. Sleep with some two-bit informant because her superiors still think that's a viable method of extracting information.

As much as she tries to pretend the whole sexpionage stuff is fun - and there are these powder puffs at Langley the last time she lectured who actually idolize her for it and want to go that route themselves - she never feels worse than when she's just off one of those missions. Sex becomes a tool, a means to an end; worse, a chore.

No matter how many showers she takes, she can't quite scrub it off.

Somehow, Michael always knows when and where to find her. After the Taipei mission (four days stuck sleeping with the head of an assassination squad), he buys her a drink in a crowded London nightclub and spins her protestingly around a dance floor. After the Johannesburg mission (trophy girlfriend to a petty little warlord), he takes her to a tiny French restaurant in Queens and they play at a first date. After the Bahrain mission (the worst in a long time; the bastard of a partner she was working with double-crossed her and left her naked in an army barracks), he rents an apartment in Venice near the Ca'Rezzonico and refuses to let her lift a finger for the entire weekend.

The age difference doesn't even bother her anymore. It used to - when he was a rookie spook and she was his favorite partner - but then, a lot of things don't bother her anymore. Like his double life; the Michael she knows - who likes to pretend he's her guardian angel in some twisted form of payback for all the times she's saved his ass - doesn't actually exist outside of their relationship.

The Michael Westen who doesn't sleep unless she's next to him?

Who pushes her thighs apart and goes down on her until she's a shaking wreck?

Who she taught to drink any kind of alcohol and still fake intoxication for a cover?

Who's counted every scar and bullet wound on her body and shown her every mirror image on his?

Who kisses every fingertip and then her cheek before he says goodbye?

That man disappears when he closes the door behind him; his eyes narrow, his steel-trap mind springs back into place, and the death wish comes back. He goes to Istanbul and takes out a cadre of terrorists. He goes to Cairo and assassinates a suspected mole in the Egyptian government. He goes to Azerbaijan and walks out minus some shoulder.

She's hardly his only feminine companionship - there's the Irish terrorist, the Canadian firefighter, the Swedish designer - but then again, Sam has her own gentlemen friends. What they are to each other is detente. A place to be themselves with no consequences, no judgments.

It ain't love, but it works.


End file.
